His aunt, as she passed him, touched his arm lightly with her fan, so lightly that the action was perceived by no one else. But Frank well understood the meaning of the touch, and appreciated the approbation which it conveyed. He merely blushed however at his own dissimulation; for he felt more certain than ever that he would never marry Miss Dunstable, and he felt nearly equally sure that Miss Dunstable would never marry him.
Lord de Courcy was now at home; but his presence did not add much hilarity to the claret-cup. The young men, however, were very keen about the election, and Mr. Nearthewinde, who was one of the party, was full of the most sanguine hopes.
'I have done one good at any rate,' said Frank; 'I have secured the chorister's vote.'
'What! Bagley?' said Nearthewinde. 'The fellow kept out of my way, and I couldn't see him.'
'I haven't exactly seen him,' said Frank; 'but I've got his vote all the same.'
'What! by a letter?' said Mr. Moffat.
'No, not by a letter,' said Frank, speaking rather low as he looked at the bishop and the earl; 'I got a promise from his wife: I think he's a little in the henpecked line.'
'Ha—ha—ha!' laughed the good bishop, who, in spite of Frank's modulation of his voice, had overheard what had passed. 'Is that the way you manage electioneering matters in our cathedral city? Ha—ha—ha!' The idea of one of his choristers being in the henpecked line was very amusing to the bishop.
'Oh, I got a distinct promise,' said Frank, in his pride; and then added incautiously, 'but I had to order bonnets for the whole family.'
'Hush-h-h-h-h!' said Mr. Nearthewinde, absolutely flabbergasted by such imprudence on the part of one of his client's friends. 'I am quite sure that your order had no effect, and was intended to have no effect on Mr. Bagley's vote.'
'Is that wrong?' said Frank; 'upon my word I thought that it was quite legitimate.'
'One should never admit anything in electioneering matters, should one?' said George, turning to Mr. Nearthewinde.
'Very little, Mr. de Courcy; very little indeed—the less the better. It's hard to say in these days what is wrong and what is not. Now, there's Reddypalm, the publican, the man who has the Brown Bear. Well, I was there of course: he's a voter, and if any man in Barchester ought to feel himself bound to vote for a friend of the duke's, he ought. Now, I was so thirsty when I was in that man's house that I was dying for a glass of beer; but for the life of me I didn't dare order one.'
